The minutes roll by like rocks,
Tumbling down a level floor.
I’m stuck in my little quaint box,
A world with an unopened door.

And the minutes just go by.
And some birds are flying by.
And some wind is blowing by.
Here I am, just getting by.

Getting by and again I play
With the same old worn toys
That yesterday I put away
But now softly make a noise.

I discover every trick of same,
In this lone monotonous game
Where I rearrange my mental food
Till my mind takes a fresher mood.

And I’m never satisfied with the work,
Always doing and wanting some more,

So maybe it’s time to veer the fork
And finally end this everlasting chore.

This entry was posted on Monday, March 29th, 2010 at 3:31 am and is filed under Poetry. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.